The Longing in Your Eyes
by Triskell
Summary: Obi reflects on Qui's eyes at the end of TPM (Canon! bring hankies!!!) Short, sweet, SLASH.


Disclaimer: Star Wars isn't mine, George Lucas would have a fit seeing how I mix up his creations ;D.

SLASH. Don't like it, don't read.

**THE LONGING IN YOUR EYES**  
© Triskell, August 2000

  
It was clear to me from the moment we met, that your eyes opened the way into your heart. It was not necessary to talk to you, we could share our thoughts across the training bond…or simply exchange a look.   
  
It was strange to me at first, I confess, that you did not show me you cared. And your eyes were shuttered, or so it felt to me. I could not see what was behind the clear blue in them, I did not have the key.  
  
Years passed, in which I learned to read your emotions, to judge your mood by a minute change in the colour of your eyes. I never realized how many different shades of blue there are, how many different hues of feelings can be hidden in stormy, raging seas or smooth, cool crystal.  
  
I think the first time I understood you was when I was fifteen. Actually I was fourteen, my birthday was yet a few days hence, and we were returning from a mission. I did not know at that time that you had deliberately cut that diplomatic meeting short, so that we would be at the temple on my birthday. You wanted me to celebrate with my friends.  
  
I never thanked you for that, even when I knew. I should have, but that is only one of the thousand little things I failed in, one of the thousand tiny instances in which I have not spoken, which have passed me by, seemingly unnoticed. They were noticed – and cherished.   
  
We were taking our bundles from the landing platform to our rooms and we met Master Yoda in the corridor. He was grinning, mischievously, and you cautioned me swiftly, telling me not to let his good mood get the better of him. It has always amused me that this little green creature was such a source of anxiety, almost panic to you. I think you were afraid he would let slip something that could reveal a part of you that you would prefer remain hidden.  
  
For the longer we knew each other, the more time we spent together and the closer we got, the less careful you were around Master Yoda. How is that for observance, for following the currents in the living force?  
  
Oh yes, I remember how you bowed then – very respectfully, with a quiet dignity, while projecting an air of being on an important errand, unable to stay long. The diplomats are envious of this skill. I have seen it many times. They wish they could dismiss their troubles as easily and elegantly as you…  
  
But Master Yoda did not fall for your bluff. He never did. And so he began filling us in on the temple gossip. You were very quiet, nodding only now and then, and when the talk came to the point where the pranks of the youngest initiates were mentioned, I caught your eye.  
  
It struck me that until that moment I never could read what you were thinking by merely looking at you…but this time I did. Your eyes were dim, as if a veil had fallen across them and I realized you were bored…yes, you – the great and well-known, the dignified Master Jinn – was bored to all the Sith hells by Master Yoda's innocent ramblings about the smaller children.  
  
I like Yoda, in fact, I consider him one of the nicest creatures I have ever met, but I must agree with you on the point that he can be very, very annoying once he gets talking. That only happens when he is in a good mood, of course – yet that used to be pretty often when I was young. Only in recent years, as the troubles began to multiply and the responsibilities were heavier and multiple paths lay open to choose from, all leading to similarly dreary ends…only then did Yoda's good humour cease to manifest itself.  
  
It is still bubbling inside him, but he will not let it out, he contains himself; a strong reign on his temper is his security now, an indifference to all around him, so that he will be safe from harm.  
  
From that day on, from the moment when I could see your boredom written plainly in your eyes, I observed you more diligently. And I was good at it, for you never realized how much you revealed, how many of your secrets were known to me before you spoke of them and shared them with me.  
  
Yes, I did learn much about you without your knowledge. And I never used it against you, it was only a means to get closer to you, for that was all I ever wanted, all I dreamed of.   
  
It helped to know how changeable your eyes can be, this has often prevented me from grave mistakes. Your slightest displeasure was so easily visible, once I knew what it would look like, once I knew which shade of blue meant I ought to be more careful in my choice of words.  
  
Did I mention that I never regretted any moment we spent with each other? Not one, not until now. This is one moment I would gladly pass by. Yet even in this there is a beauty, and a warmth that I will cherish, an emotion that touches me deep down inside.  
  
Your eyes opened your heart to me, they offered me the knowledge of your soul, the worlds that eternity can never efface, the worth that I keep within me and the touch that bound our lives together, forever.  
  
Your eyes have been fading, they have closed, and I have wept. I saw the veils descending, not silvery, wispy threads like when you are bored; this time they were grey and grew darker with each moment, they swallowed the clear blue and left black death in their wake.   
  
I knew there was no way to save you and yet I had hoped. Your love for me was in your eyes, though you spoke of other things. And the feel of your hand on my cheek rests in my heart, as will the last look you gave me, the last time I saw YOU in your eyes, the longing for life, for love…for me.  
  
  
The End.  
  
  
Inspired by this song (have you seen 'Watership Down'? I was in tears when that song was playing…)  
  
Bright Eyes (Art Garfunkel)  
  
Is it a kind of dream,  
Floating out on the tide,  
Following the river of death downstream  
Oh, is it a dream?  
There's a fog on the horizon  
A strange glow in the sky  
And nobody seems to know where you go  
And what does it mean?  
Oh, oh is it a dream?  
  
Bright Eyes, burning like fire,  
Bright Eyes, how can you close and fail?  
How can the light that burned so brightly  
Suddenly burn so pale? Bright Eyes.  
  
Is it a kind of shadow,  
Reaching into the night  
Wandering over the hills unseen  
Or is it a dream?  
There's a high wind in the trees  
A cold sound in the air  
And nobody ever knows when you go  
And where do you start? Oh, oh into the dark.  
  
From the Kuschelrock (Special Edition) CD Booklet. No copyright infringement is intended.


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